And Then He Woke Up
by Takk the Hideous New Girl
Summary: In the second book, Harry's friends don't write to him, and he wonders whether the first book was a dream. Well, it turns out it was...Just a little more realistic than he thought.


The late afternoon sun cast its golden rays over the empty park, glinting off the dilapidated playground equipment and lending an almost magical appearence to the trees. Seated on the one swing that wasn't broken, scuffing the ground with the toe of his sneaker, Harry sighed. There was that word again. Magical.

To think he'd almost believed it-He _had_ believed it. He still believed it a bit every night, when the dreams returned, but every morning the sun rose on Number Four, Privet Drive to remind him how very wrong he'd been. But it seemed so real-Ron, Hermione, even Malfoy, hell, even Voldemort. How lovely it would be if it were true.

"I know what day it is." Dudley's loud, snide voice preceeded him around the corner. Harry groaned. Today happened to be his thirteenth birthday-not that anyone was counting.

"Well done," he said wearily to his cousin. "You've finally learned the days of the week, have you?"

"It's your _birthday_," sneered Dudley. When Harry didn't respond, Dudley continued.

"And," he said, looking more gleeful, "I heard you talking in your sleep last night." Still, Harry didn't respond, though his insides were boiling. Oh, how he'd love to curse Dudley-that is, if curses existed.

"You were talking to somebody called Ron," Dudley went on, now looking positively giddy. "Who's Ron? Your boyfriend?"

"Oh, leave him alone," said a voice from behind. Startled, both boys looked around. Harry gasped.

"Whoa," he whispered, his mouth agape.

Draco Malfoy was standing just outside the playground, arms folded, glaring at Dudley. Although, Harry noticed, he wasn't Draco Malfoy-not precisely. This boy was taller, certainly, and after studying him for a moment, Harry noted that he was older, too. Malfoy had been twelve in Harry's last dream, and this boy was at least sixteen. However, he possessed Malfoy's sleek, white-blond hair, his bloodless, angular face, his pale gray eyes.

"Or what?" Dudley demanded, losing interest in Harry and rounding on the boy. "Going to fight me?"

"No," snapped the boy, and Harry realized that he had a distinct American accent. "Just get out of here, he didn't do anything to you."

Both Harry and Dudley stared. No one had ever, in Harry's memory, spoken to Dudley that way. Dudley looked frightened and wrong-footed, and Harry could tell he had no idea what to do. He had never been told off before, much less by some stranger with a foreign accent. After a moment, he pushed Harry roughly from his swing and stalked off, giving the boy who so resembled Malfoy a sneer as he passed.

Harry sighed and brushed dirt from his clothes.

"Er-thanks," he said uncertainly, looking up at the other boy. Admittedly, this boy had just saved him from his cousin, but Harry wasn't sure he could trust him yet. He did, after all, look exactly like Harry's mortal enemy from his dreams.

"No problem," said the boy, extending a hand to help Harry up. After a moment's hesitation, Harry took it.

"Are you all right?" he asked, when Harry was standing once more.

"Yeah. Yeah, fine. Er-who are you?" The boy laughed.

"True, I haven't introduced myself. Tyler Morgan," he said, holding out his hand.

"Harry Potter," said Harry, shaking the other boy's hand. "Er-are you..." he wanted to ask Tyler where he was from, but he didn't want to sound rude. However, Tyler seemed to understand what he was trying to say.

"Am I an American?" he finished, looking slightly amused. Harry blushed.

"Well, yeah."

"Yes," he said. "I guess it's pretty obvious, huh?"

"I'm sorry," said Harry hastily. "I didn't mean-"

"S'okay." Looking around, Harry realized they had fallen in step with one another and were now walking away from the playground.

"I've never been to America," said Harry, after a moment. "Is it nice there?"

"Well...Yeah, I guess you could say it's nice there," Tyler replied after a moment, his pale eyes scanning Harry's face.

"What made you come here?" he asked. He didn't mean to sound too rude or too eager, but he had never met a foreigner before. A shadow seemed to cross Tyler's face, but as soon as it appared it was gone, and he gave a lighthearted shrug.

"Oh, y'know...Change of scenery, I guess."

"What part of America are you from?" Tyler laughed.

"You sure ask a lot of questions."

"I'm sorry," said Harry at once.

"Hey, that's okay. Nothing wrong with asking questions. I'm from California. San Francisco." Harry thought a moment. He understood from geography class that California was very far West, but other than that he knew nothing about it.

"Have you always lived there?" he asked.

"Oh, no. I was born in Chicago. Lived in Detroit for a while. Moved to Seattle, then down to Houston. I only lived in California a few years." Harry stared. With the exception of Chicago, he hadn't heard of any of those places. Quite apart from that, Tyler had lived in more places than Harry had been in his life.

"That's enough about me, though," Tyler went on. "Tell me about yourself, Harry. How old are you, anyway?"

"Twe-thirteen."

"Really? Have you always lived here?"

"Yeah. All my life."

"Where are your parents?"

"Er-they're dead," he said quietly. Tyler looked startled.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said softly. Harry noticed that unlike Malfoy, Tyler truly looked sorry.

"It's all right. I don't remember them, anyhow."

"Who was that?" Tyler asked after a minute, gesturing in the direction Dudley had fled. Harry sighed.

"That's-That's Dudley," he said. "My cousin."

"Nice cousin," said Tyler, in a tone of mild disgust. "Do you live with him?" he asked, after a moment.

"Er...Yeah, I do. Him and my aunt and uncle."

"Are they okay, at least?" Harry gave a hollow laugh.

"They're nearly as nice as Dudley." He had no idea why he was telling a complete stranger this-particularly one who resembled Draco Malfoy-but something in Tyler's face seemed to make it all right. Besides, he was desperate for a friend, even if that friend was some American several years his senior.

"What about your parents?" he asked Tyler. "Are they nice?" For the briefest of moments, Tyler's face seemed to cloud over. However, the change was gone as quickly as it had come, and Harry wondered whether he had imagined it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but was quickly cut off.

"Oy! Get in here, boy!" Harry hadn't realized they'd been walking so close to Number Four. Uncle Vernon was standing in the yard, his beefy face purple. The combination of his bushy mustache and his wild eyes made him look slightly mad-though this also might have been because he was wearing his work suit with bedroom slippers. Instantly, Harry knew he was in trouble-for coming home after Dudley, probably. Though it was only five in the afternoon, he knew Uncle Vernon would deliver a very loud lecture about breaking curfew. The Dursleys considered whatever time Dudley arrived home to be the perfect time, and any time earlier or later would earn Harry punishment. He sighed.

"I've got to go," he told Tyler, who was staring, slightly aghast, at Uncle Vernon.

"Well, okay," said Tyler, and Harry was surprised when he placed a hand on his shoulder for the briefest of moments. "Maybe I'll see you around?" he added.

"Er-yeah," said Harry. "Definitely." In spite of Uncle Vernon's increasingly loud demands for his presence in the house, Harry stood for a few more moments, watching Tyler's retreating back. He grinned. Maybe, just maybe, after thirteen years, he was finally going to have a real friend


End file.
